Thinking About Taking a Wife Strike--Not a Hall Pass!--but a Wife Strike?

This article was written by a member of the SheKnows Community. It has not been edited, vetted or reviewed by our editorial staff, and any opinions expressed herein are the writer’s own.

Taking a Wife Strike is about taking back--one by one until you have reached a whole--slices of pie that you gave away. I'll come back later to this in more detail. For now, give me about 5 minutes of your time, sit back, and endulge in what a Wife Strike can do for you. Put on your reading glasses, grab a glass of wine, sit in your corner couch, and here we go:

Wet Jeans: Scenario of a Wife on Strike Drastic Measure

“I’ve got to get out of these clothes--fast,” I shouted to myself as I zoomed through the freezing rain to the wide front porch. Chilled to the bone, my fingers shook uncontrollably while I tried to unlock the oak front door. Scrapping the metal latch back, I rushed into a charge of warm air that wrapped around me, and the familiar sounds of my home--children’s chatter and video games--greeted me. As I walked through the house, I quickly unbuttoned my layered blouse, and fell to the floor while trying to remove my drenched skinny leg jeans.

“Mom, are you ok?” asked Sydney, my fourteen-year-old daughter, as she ran from the family room to my rescue.

Laughing, I replied, “Yes dear! I’ve got to get out of these darn wet clothes. I feel like a popsicle. Help mama. You call me an old lady anyway, and old ladies do need help!”

“You’re so lame, mama,” she laughed. “You gotta take your shoes off first,” she continued laughing. “See, I told ya’ you were old. How could you forget to take off your shoes before removing your pants? Who does that?”

I wanted to tell her where to get off, but it didn’t go in line with the parenting skills I’d been working on in transparenting class, so I took off my muddy shoes and politely replied, “Well dear, your mama was cold, and sometimes cold wet weather can freeze the brain. Know what I mean?”

“Yea I guess.”

“Now get ta’ pullin, girl. I’ve got ta’ get out of these clothes!” Suddenly, the aroma of fireplace smoke teased my nostrils. I know they didn’t light a fire while I was gone. They know better. Or do they? Fire burning in May though? We had gotten a cold front from the North, but we could have survived without burning a fire. “Wait Syd!” I paused and listened to the very masculine laughter coming from the family room. Curious, I scampered off the floor in my wet skinny leg jeans and damp bra. Hurrying down the narrow hallway as fast as the cold hardwood floor allowed, I could feel my heart beating to the rhythm of my breath.

Running behind me, Syd shouted, “Oh yea, da--.”

“What are you doing here?” I interrupted before Syd could finish warning me that her dad--my soon-to-be ex--was in the house. Forcing myself to remain calm, I paused at the doorway and watched him play video games with our two boys. They all were wearing red basketball caps with a hog on the front. They knew wearing hats in the house were not allowed, but their dad always let them break house rules. Sometimes, I think he does it just to irritate me.

“Oh, hey honey,” he responded in a convincing manner.

“Honey? Don’t honey me. What are you doing here?”

“I heard it was gonna get pretty nasty out there tonight. By the way, you look great! Love the purple bra.”

I wanted to scream. I had forgotten I was almost naked and still wearing wet jeans. Rain water dripped from my hair as I gently wiped my forehead dry. I gave him the evil eye and said with a wry smile, “As always, dear. I look just as good as always. You can let yourself out. Thanks for checking on us, but I think we’ll be fine. A fireplace in May though?”

“No mom,” seven-year-old Reggie shouted. “Please let daddy stay.”

Grinning from ear to ear, he co-signed, “Yea, let me stay. You look great in those wet jeans.”

All of a sudden, I felt perplexed. What is he up to? “Alright, you can stay but just for tonight.” Turning around, I quickly headed towards my bedroom. I had to get out of these wet jeans and into some dry clothes fast before he started getting ideas.

“We need to talk.” It was too late. He came into the bedroom just as I began tugging at my pants. “I know it took you filing for divorce for me to notice you again, but I--”

“Please don’t--”

“I miss you. I’m sorry. I apologize for everything. Please call off the divorce. I didn’t think you’d take my dare serious.” Before I could respond, he kissed me.

My body became filled with conflicting emotions. He was my weakness. The only thought running through me now was getting out of these clothes--fast.

The End

AND... The "What is your point?" Moment---> A Wife Strike doesn't have to be as dramatic as filing for divorce just to get him to notice you. A Wife Strike can be something as simple as not washing the dishes until after he's cleared the pile of rubbish waiting in the sink. It can be as simple as not washing clothes until he's continuously worn the same dusty jeans and tomato soup stained shirt that screams WHEW! WHAT IS THAT SMELL? because now, his smell has raged war against your nose. It can even be as simple as letting him whisper sweet nothings, then you yelling, "OUCH! CRAMPS! Mother Nature just called. I need a Midol, dear. I'm sorry. Raincheck?" You get the point.

A Wife Strike is simple but it takes a lot of patience, a strong nose, and acting skills.